Every Story Has A Story
by Darling Pretty
Summary: Everyone knows Mary and Bert have a past. It's time that past was told. Mary/Bert.
1. Prequel

**Oh, don't mind me, just starting yet another story I shouldn't. But I've been watching Mary Poppins constantly lately because my seven-year-old cousin who doesn't speak a word of English is constantly climbing into my lap, pointing to my computer and demanding "Mary Poppins!" And how exactly do you say no to that?**

**Anyways, I noticed the number of scenes that hint at a back story or that seem to be cut off without showing the entire scene (which would have turned decidedly Mary/Bert), so I decided to provide those scenes or flashbacks.**

**And yes, the dialogue from the movie is almost entirely accurate. I took special care to type it all out as I watched the movie.**

**I really own nothing.**

**Oh, and fanfic is horrible and doesn't seem to recognize my favorite word (there's a whole song about it in the movie) as a word and deletes it. So if you see an awkward letter S (or D, if it's backwards) just substitute the word.**

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><p><em>She sighs as she gathers her things. Another job well done and another family to leave without saying goodbye to. That's nothing new. But this time there's something that hurts even more.<em>

"_Mary Poppins, if you think for one second you fool me, you're fooling yourself," her umbrella squawks. "I know exactly how you feel about him and-"_

_She quickly grabs his beak. "That'll be quite enough of that, thank you!"_

_When the dumb bird has been properly silenced, she closes the front door and gets ready to fly away._

"_Leaving without so much as a farewell?"_

_She jumps and turns to find Bert leaning against the tree in the front yard._

"_Bert! You frightened me."_

"_I'm sorry. But maybe you would 'ave noticed if you weren't busy being so sneaky."_

"_I am certainly not sneaky!"_

"_No, you really are not," he grins. Then he becomes serious. "You're leaving?"_

"_The wind has changed."_

"_Without saying farewell?" The hurt in his voice is evident."You promised to never do that." _

_She turns her face away from him without answering._

"_What do you want me to do 'ere, Mary?" he asks. "I 'aven't stopped loving you an' I don't think you've stopped loving me, so what are we doing?"_

"_I think," she says slowly. "I need some time. Time to think, to collect my thoughts. Bert, I… I do love you, but I can't- I just don't think I can do this anymore. I can't live with my heart in two places."_

_He nods. "Suit yourself. Just let me know 'ow the thinking turns out."_

"_Bert, I-"_

"_Sweeper's luck, Mary," he cuts her off, holding out his hand. She takes it and swallows the lump in her throat—he hasn't shaken her hand to wish her luck in forever; for nearly two years her luck has been given in kiss form._

"_Goodbye, Bert. I hope you can forgive me."_

"_Not goodbye, Mary Poppins, you know better than that. We'll see each other again. I 'ope you figure out whatever it is you need to figure out, Mary. An' I 'ope whatever it is, it makes you 'appy." He kisses her cheek. "In the meantime, I'll be 'ere. You know where to find me."_

_She nods stiffly, picks up her bag, opens her umbrella and lets the wind carry her away._

**5 Years Later**

"Wait! Don't move. Don't move a muscle," Bert orders quickly as a shadow falls over his chalk frame. "Stay right where you are… I'd know that sil-i-ouette anywhere. Mary Poppins!"

She smiles warmly. "It's nice to see you again, Bert. I expect you know Jane and Michael." The grin stays put as she introduces the children. It's been far too long and she is genuinely glad to have finally fixed that, regardless of how they parted the last time.

"Well, I've seen 'em 'ere and about. Chasing a kite last time, weren't it?"

"Mary Poppins is taking us to the park!" Jane explains excitedly.

A sort of mischievous disbelief settles onto his face. "To the _park_? Not if I know Mary Poppins."

The "and I do" is unspoken, but Mary hears it there anyways. Her eyes widen in alarm as she waits for what he'll say next.

"Other nannies take children to the park. When you're with Mary Poppins, suddenly you're in places you never dreamed of. And quick as you can say 'bogsroggle' the most unusual things begin to happen."

"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," she says, a warning behind her prim exterior.

"Well, mind you, it's not my place to say, but what she's probably got in mind is a jolly holiday some ways or other." Mary rolls her eyes as he continues to fascinate the children. "Something along these lines, I shouldn't be surprised…"

His actions are so familiar that a fond smile nearly crosses Mary's face as he enacts his drawings, but she manages to twist it into a vaguely entertained disdain. When he's quite finished, she applauds him sarcastically.

"Oh, that's lovely! If you please, I'd much rather go there!" Jane exclaims.

Mary looks on as Bert extols the virtue of his English countryside and the children get more and more excited. Even she has to watch when he finishes drawing the road to the fair—watching him draw has always fascinated her.

"Please may we go, Mary Poppins? Please?" Michael begs.

"Such a lovely place. Don't _you _think it's lovely, Mary Poppins?" Jane adds.

Mary looks away. Bert smiles mischievously. "You 'ave to tell 'em, Mary Poppins. No one's looking."

"Please, Mary Poppins, _please_?" the children plead in unison.

"I have _no _intention of making a spectacle of myself, thank _you_!" she replies, turning up her nose.

Bert grins. "All right, I'll do it myself!"

She whips her head to look at him disbelievingly. "Do _what_?"

"Bit of magic," he says simply.

"A bit of magic?" Michael asks.

"It's easy!" Bert says cavalierly. "Let's see… You think… You wink… You do a double blink…" Mary watches in amusement, knowing he's getting this terribly wrong, knowing that he's just baiting her and enjoying every second of it. "You close your eyes and jump!"

"Is something supposed to happen?" Jane asks when nothing does.

"Bert, what _utter_ nonsense," Mary snaps, heaving a large sigh before she steps over the drawings. "Why do you _always _complicate things that are really quite simple?" It's a question that reaches beyond performing magic but the children don't need to know that. "Give me your hand please, Michael; don't slouch. One, two…"

They jump again and this time they end up in the drawing.

"Mary Poppins, you look bea-u-tiful," Bert comments, drawing out the last word.

"Do you _really_ think so?" Mary inquires, knowing full well the answer.

"Cross me 'eart you do! Like the day I met you!"

_Newly eighteen, Mary Poppins walks through the park. Her mother had handed her the black umbrella, carpet bag, and tape measure that morning and promptly left her to strike out on her own. Mary isn't exactly unhappy with the circumstance—her mother has always been a domineering presence in her life and she can't say she's upset to be rid of it._

_Still, at eighteen years old, she hardly feels ready to suddenly take up the role she was always meant for. She knows theoretically she has all the tools, but there is a wide gap between theory and practice. And now, for the first time in her life, she finds herself without a home._

_She stops walking when she comes to a row of chalk drawings. One in particular catches her eye—the artist seems to have drawn the most idyllic place Mary could possibly imagine, a beautiful cabin in a forest. The chimney smokes happily and the water of the pond seems to glisten on the pavement._

_Mary bites her lip; dare she? She looks around quickly and sees that no one is around. She closes her eyes. One… Two…_

"'_Scuse me, miss. Are you alright?"_

_She nearly jumps out of her skin, her eyes popping open in surprise. "I, uh, oh, I'm fine, thank you." She turns around and nearly jumps again. She hadn't expected that the speaker was going to be so handsome or that he would have the kindest blue eyes she had ever seen. She can't get an exact handle on his age, but she'd guess it to be somewhere between twenty and twenty-five._

"_You sure?" The blue eyes squint in concern. "You look pale."_

"_You just startled me, that's all," she replies. "I assure you I'm fine."_

"_Glad to 'ear it then," he grins. "Th' name's Bert. Bert Alfred."_

_She rewards him with a small smile. "Mary Poppins."_

_She waits for the recognition of her last name, for the reference to the rather large fortune her father had amassed before his death. It never comes. "You 'ave a lovely name, Miss Mary Poppins," her new acquaintance says. "Nearly dances off the tongue!"_

_She smiles a little wider at such a novel description of her name. "Thank you. I'm quite fond of it."_

"_I can see why."_

_After a few seconds of silence, Mary coughs. "I really should be going."_

"_If it's not too personal, Miss Mary Poppins, could I ask what you were doing when I showed up?"_

"_Oh, I, well…" she stammers. If she were to tell him the truth, he'd have her committed to the insane asylum._

"_Because it looked to me like you were about ready to jump into that drawing there."_

_Her eyes snap up to meet his. He couldn't possibly know… could he? "Certainly not," she lies. "I was just admiring it. It certainly looks as if you could just step into it."_

_He grins. "That's me favorite too. O' course, I like 'em all, since they're all from memory, but that one's me own special favorite."_

_Her eyebrows rise. "You drew these?"_

_He nods modestly. "Not Royal Academy or anything like that, o' course, but not bad, ey?"_

'_They're beautiful," she breathes. "Did you say they're from memory? You've been to all of these places?"_

_He nods again. "Well, everywhere but that one," he says, indicating the drawing of the cabin that started the conversation. "That one's more a memory of the future."_

_Her brow furrows. "I beg your pardon?"_

"_I'll get there someday. I just 'ave to wait for the right moment. An' maybe a little bit o' magic."_

_Her breath comes a little faster. He knows. He has to._

"_Mr. Alfred, this may sound like a silly question, but do you believe in magic?"_

"_I do," he grins. "I believe in miracles and moments too."_

"_May I show you something?"_

"_Be my guest."_

_She blushes. "I'll need to take your hand." _

_He gives it freely. "Just promise to give it back, alright?" he jokes. "I need it to draw."_

_She closes her eyes and counts down. When she looks around, they're surrounded by chalk trees and the pond sits at their feet._

"_Cor, Miss Mary Poppins, forgive me for saying this but you look beautiful."_

_She will never forget that he didn't even ask how she managed to get them into a drawing, just mentioned how she looked. She's dressed in a pale blue dress and sensible shoes, he wears brown trousers and a white shirt._

"_Thank you, Mr. Alfred."_

"_Bert, please."_

"_Bert then."_

"_Feel that?" he asks suddenly._

_She frowns. "Feel what?"_

"_Something special just 'appened," he explains. "Can't put me finger on it, but something just 'appened. Why, we've 'ad a moment!"_

_She laughs merrily. "I daresay we might have."_

"_Mary Poppins," he says earnestly. "I can't 'elp but feel like life just changed."_

_She knows exactly how he feels because she feels the same way. But she'd never let him know that. "Well, I, for one, would like to explore this forest!"_

_They spend the day running through the forest, talking and laughing—even, at one point, climbing. She can't believe how compatible she and this stranger are._

_Finally the light changes, becoming dark and gloomy. There must be a cloudburst because the drawing starts to melt around them. She grabs hold of his arm and they go back to London. "Oh, Bert," she sighs sadly. "Your drawings!"_

"_No matter," he says with an easy grin. "The memories are worth far more than the drawings."_

_She smiles. "It was a joy to make your acquaintance."_

"_Will I see you again?"_

_She sighs. "I'm afraid I'll be leaving London for a time."_

"_No matter. Look me up the next time your life brings you 'ere. I'll watch for you."_

"_You are something else, Bert Alfred."_

"_Feel as if I've known you all me life, Mary Poppins. Wish I'd known you sooner. But we've got all the time in the world."_

"_Goodbye, Bert."_

"_Not goodbye," he replies, taking her hand and brushing his lips against her knuckles. "Farewell, until next time. Goodbye is permanent. Farewell's not."_

"_Farewell then. And au revoir."_

Mary blushes and looks down, remembering that day that had seemed so perfect. "You look fine too, Bert."

He preens but then Michael asks about the fair, so he gives Jane and Michael directions, instructing them to give the fair's operators his name. Once Mary calls after them not to fall and smudge the drawing, she and Bert are on their own.

As they walk, he starts to sing and Mary smiles. "_I feel like I could fly_." With that, he flaps his arms and lifts off the ground.

She rolls her eyes. "Now, Bert, none of your larking about," she chides.

Even though she scolds him, it feels so good to be walking with him again that she can't keep a smile off her face for long. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?" she asks as he sings to her. He really hasn't—he's the same happy-go-lucky goofball she fell in love with.

He just pushes on, extolling the wonders of a jolly holiday with Mary, causing her to blush and demure, "Oh, honestly."

When he comes to a line about holding hands and hearts like big brass bands, she feels her own heart quicken but covers it with a laugh. "You _are _lightheaded."

"_It's a jolly holiday with Mary, no wonder that it's Mary that we love_." Oh, she could hear him say that line over and over again. She's missed him terribly.

After a quick barnyard serenade, they take off down the path, dancing and laughing the entire way. He picks her a bouquet that turns out to be a group of butterflies. She doesn't think she's ever seen anything quite so magical.

Finally, she sings back, trying to let him know just how much it means to her that they're still able to do this after the last time. And she hopes he'll understand that she's still hopelessly in love with him. He makes light of it, but she thinks he gets her meaning.

It becomes even clearer when they sit down for tea. He helps her to her chair, confirming her evaluation of him as a gentleman, and then summons the waiters… Well, penguins.

She orders the same thing they've always had at tea time and he offers no objections.

The penguins tell her their entire menu is complementary just for her—after all, she _is _their favorite person.

"Right you are!" Bert agrees whole-heartedly. "It's true that Mavis and Sybil have ways that are winning and Prudence and Gwendolyn set your heart spinning. Phoebe's delightful, Maude is disarming…"

The smile on her face fades.

"Janice, Felicia, Lydia…" the penguins add helpfully.

"Charming!" Bert exclaims. "Cynthia's dashing, Vivian's sweet, Stephanie's smashing, Priscilla a treat!"

"Veronica, Millicent, Agnes, and Jane," the penguins feel the need to add to the list.

"Convivial company time and again!" he says. _Just how many women does he know?_ Mary thinks jealously, even though she knows he's just doing this to get this exact reaction.

"Dorcas and Phyllis and Glynnis of sorts, I'll agree are three jolly good sports!" Mary turns away with a huff. This is becoming absolutely ridiculous and she's through hearing the entire list of every woman he's ever met or dated in his life… At least she hopes it's the whole list.

Bert sees her get upset and wraps it up with a boyish grin. "But cream of the crop, tip of the top, it's Mary Poppins and there we stop!"

She's never been able to stay mad at him, not once he flashes that grin. The twinkle in his eye lets her know he was joking and she chuckles, wishing she could stay angry longer, but his dance with the penguins is just so charming that she can't help but laugh.

And then he pulls her up out of her seat and they begin to dance, careful to keep an appropriate distance between them. But it just feels so good to be back in his arms again. It feels _right _just like it always has. She ends up inching closer until she could rest her head on his shoulder if she'd like.

She smiles softly up at him. "The drawing is truly lovely, Bert," she tells him.

"You know what it reminds me of, don't you?" he asks.

She nods. "You always did say we'd end up back here again someday."

"_Oh, Bert," she sighs. Her brow furrows as she tries to find the least painful words she can. "I can't… I simply can't."_

_He coughs to hide a frown. "Right."_

"_Bert, I would. You know I would. But I can't be a nanny and a wife at once. That's a juggling act even I can't manage. And I can't give up nanny-ing. Not yet. Not when so many people still need me."_

"_Right," he repeats._

"_I am so sorry."_

"_No, Mary, I get it." He shakes off his disappointment and grins. "One day, Mary Poppins, I'm going to draw this place again. We'll come back and I'll ask you again."_

"_One day, Bert, when the timing is right, I'll be able to give you the answer you're waiting for. I promise."_

"And then you 'ad to go an' disappear for five years," he says.

She looks down. "I'm sorry. I was scared. I didn't know what to make of anything."

"You were scared?"

"Of how badly I wanted to say yes to you and how certainly I knew I couldn't. I didn't want you to have to suffer through my indecision with me. I was miserable enough as it was and to have you suffering as well… that would have been more than I could bear."

At this point, they're stopped dancing, though they are still in position. Mary looks up into his eyes and sees the happiness there. By mutual unspoken agreement, their eyes close as they lose themselves in a slow kiss.

"So what does that mean?" Bert asks when they pull away.

She takes a deep breath. "It means I was a fool for leaving in the first place."

"Oh?"

"And," she continues, only hesitating a little. "It means… I think you should ask me the question again."

He grins, a molasses-slow smile that pours over his whole face. "Mary Poppins, I… No, not here."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't want… that is…" She lets him flounder for words, since he's the one refusing to propose to her. "Mary, this is the most important question of me life. It should 'ave it's own moment and this isn't it."

She bites her lip. "You _will _ask again, won't you?"

"Cross me 'eart, 'ope to die."

"I hardly think anything as extreme as dying is necessary!" she laughs. "In fact, I would much prefer that you _not _die."

He picks her up and swings her around joyfully. "I love you, Mary Poppins."

She beams. "It's been far too long since I last heard that. And I love you as well, Bert. Very much."

He kisses her again but she pulls away after a moment. "We really _should_ find the children. I'm worried about what sort of trouble they'll manage to create without supervision. And Bert, I think it would be best if we kept this to ourselves. I don't want the children to think I'm here for any reason other than them."

"Whatever you think is best, Mary Poppins," he smiles. "I'm just 'appy to call you mine, whether or not anybody else knows it."

She smiles her thanks and they walk to the fair, finding Jane and Michael contemplating the merry-go-round. "Mary Poppins!" Michael cries when he sees them. "Come on the merry-go-round with us!"

"Very well then," she assents. "Come along."

They get situated on the four horses that are perfectly matched to their personalities and the carousel starts to move. Jane and Michael instantly start laughing and playing around.

"Very nice," Bert comments, a twinkle in his eye as he leans back. "Very nice indeed… If you don't want to go nowhere."

Mary leans forward with a smile. Oh, how little faith he has in her. "Who says we're _not _going anywhere?" She calls out for the guard and thanks him when he pulls the lever that sets the horses free.

The guard narrates as if this is a race, which, of course, puts the idea into Michael's head and he claims his horse is the fastest. Bert won't have that and pushes his horse faster. Mary rolls her eyes. "Now really, Bert, you're as bad as the children."

"Sorry!" he exclaims as he grabs the reins on Michael's horse and brings them to a stop. "Just a bit of high spirits, Mary Poppins," he grins, his smile hinting at just _why _his spirits are so high.

She keeps her nose in the air and doesn't allow the children to think that anything has changed. "_Please_ control yourself," she scolds him. "We are _not _on a race course."

The fox hunt crosses their path. "Follow me, please," she orders. The children follow immediately and Bert brings up the rear, sulking.

Their efforts to save the fox bring them, wouldn't you know it, onto the race course. Through skill and a bit of polite trickery, Mary Poppins wins the race.

As the reporters gather around her, Bert takes Jane and Michael to get candy apples. She poses for pictures and answers questions as best she can. Finally she holds up a hand when they suggest that she simply doesn't have words for how lucky she is.

"Now, now, now, now gentlemen, _please_," she says. "On the contrary, there's a very good word. Am I right, Bert?" she calls. Well, it is _his _word, after all!

_Mary studies the contraption. It hardly looks sturdy. "No. Absolutely not," she refuses._

"_Aw, Mary, don't be so afraid," Bert pleads with her._

_She turns away from the thing. "A respectable person like me? On that… that… _thing_? How dare you suggest it!"_

_He laughs. "Mary, it's a motorbike an' you'll love it if you'll just give it a try."_

"_No," she refuses._

"_Come on, Mary, don't you trust me?"_

"_You, yes. That contraption, not in a million years!"_

"_It's perfectly safe, Mary. An' it's the best way to travel!"_

_She shakes her head and purses her lips._

"_Mary Poppins, it's just like flying!"_

"_I _know _what flying feels like, thank you, and I sincerely doubt it's anything like that!"_

"_Mary Poppins…"_

"_Absolutely not."_

_Bert sighs. "Alright then. I was going t' take you to get gingerbread but if you insist, I'll just be on me way…"_

"_Gingerbread?" Mary can't help but ask._

_He nods with a sly smile. He knows how to push his best friend's buttons to get her to do as he likes. She's a master of manipulation but he's a quick study. "From Mrs. Corry's shop."_

_She swallows and he almost thinks she licks her lips. Secretly, Mary Poppins has the biggest sweet tooth that Bert's ever come across and she _loves _gingerbread._

"_But only if we take the bike," he adds._

_She looks up shyly. "You… you won't let me fall?"_

"_Mary Poppins," he says, holding a hand to his heart. "I would kill meself before I'd let any 'arm come to you. You 'ave me word I'll keep you safe."_

_She nods nervously. "All right then, let's get on with it."_

_He grins and hands her his scarf. "'Ere. For your 'air."_

"_Thank you," she says curtly as she wraps it around her head. He gets on the bike and she climbs on after him, wrapping her arms carefully around his waist._

"_You'll 'ave to 'old on tighter'n that," he informs her with a laugh. She readjusts and rests her chin on his shoulder shyly._

"_If you get scared," he yells over the roar of the engine. "Close your eyes. I've got you, Mary Poppins. Don't you worry about a thing!"_

_They zoom through London and once Mary has the feel of it, she opens her eyes. It's magnificent to see all of the colors whizzing by._

_After a good ten minutes they pull into Mrs. Corry's shop. "Well?" Bert asks as he helps her off._

_She throws her head back and laughs. "That was _nothing _like flying. But it was… it was spectacular! Only that doesn't quite seem to describe it. I don't think I know a word for it!"_

"_S," he replies._

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"_S!" he repeats. "A word for when you've got no words!"_

"_S," she tries it out slowly. "I like it! Where did you hear it?"_

"_Came up with it meself, I did!"_

"_Really? I'm impressed!"_

"_You're welcome to use it any time you like," he informs her graciously._

"_Thank you… Now, I do believe you promised me gingerbread. And I'm holding you accountable!"_

Bert grins. "Tell 'em what it is."

"Right," she smiles, taking off her hat and proceeding to explain all about the word.

Bert joins in and she feels far more carefree than she has in years. In fact, in the midst of their dancing and grinning at each other, she even jumps and clicks her heels together, a move that surprises even her. There's a lull in the music and she gets a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she turns to him. "You know, you _can _say it backwards, which is D, but that's going a bit too far don't you think?"

His mouth drops. It may be his word, but no one's said it backwards before! "Indubitably," he manages to reply.

Unfortunately, as the song ends, so do the sunny skies. Mary calls for Jane and Michael and the foursome huddle under her parasol. "Stay close now," she orders. Bert's hand rests on the small of her back but the children don't notice so she doesn't move.

The drawing washes away and they return to London. "Oh, Bert!" she cries, looking down at the soggy street. "All your fine drawings!"

"Well, there's more where they came from," he replies, keeping a larger distance between them now that they're back where propriety has to be observed. "Meantime, I'm changing businesses. This 'ere is lovely hot chestnut weather!"

"Come along, children!" she chirps before anything else can be said. "Bye, Bert!"

They leave him singing and dancing happily in the rain and remnants of his drawings.

S indeed.

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><p><strong>Do let me know if you'd like to read more! I have a rather large chunk of this story written!<strong>

**-Juli-**


	2. Binding

**So here's the thing: I come from writing in the world of Grey's Anatomy, where everybody and their cousin has some sort of skeleton in their closet or dark back story. As a result, I love skeletons and darkness. Now, Bert and Mary don't exactly strike me as the type to have skeletons in their respective closets, but dark back stories… I think it's a possibility. You can tell me I'm wrong, of course, but I think it works.**

**Anyways, as always, I own nothing.**

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><p>"No! No!" Michael cries. "I won't take your nasty medicine!"<p>

"Do we _have _to, Mary Poppins?" Jane whines.

Mary fixes them both with a look. "People who get their feet wet must learn to take their medicine." It's easier to be strict here in the nursery, dressed in her serious gown and apron.

She pours each of them a spoonful and Jane squeals when the tonic comes out different colors. Mary hides a smile as she pours herself some—that trick nearly always works.

"Lime cordial! Delicious!" Jane exclaims and Michael calls out that his is strawberry.

Mary closes her eyes as she takes her own medicine. "Rum punch," she hums and then hiccups quietly.

_She had arrived in London in a storm. That's certainly nothing new, but it's worse this time. Usually the wind suddenly changes and a slight drizzle might fall on her umbrella. Not this time. This time she arrives to what seems to be a very lost hurricane. Even her umbrella is of no help in keeping her dry._

_Well, she can't very well go to meet her next employer looking like she had taken an ill-advised and fully clothed swim in the ocean. Unfortunately, she doesn't have anywhere to rectify the situation. It's not as if she keeps a permanent residence in London and she can't very well show up suddenly at her childhood home and expect to be treated as the prodigal daughter._

_She frowns, wondering how she's going to work her way out of this mess._

"_Mary Poppins?"_

_She turns at her name and sees Bert grinning at her from the relative dryness of an awning. She's surprised he recognizes her—they've only met the one time. "Hello, Bert," she greets him, trying to huddle under her umbrella. "You're looking well."_

"_And you're looking wet!" he responds quickly. "What's a lady like yourself doing out in this weather?"_

"_I've just arrived back in London," she informs him._

"_You look like you've flown through this storm!"_

_She shrugs._

"_Aw, Mary Poppins, you shouldn't do that. You'll catch your death that way, you will!"_

"_It's perfectly fine," she retorts, trying to hide a shiver._

"_No offense meant, Mary Poppins, but I've seen drowned cats looking better'n you. Do you 'ave anywhere to get out of the rain?"_

_She shakes her head slowly as her teeth start to chatter. Errant tendrils of hair from her bun plaster themselves to the sides of her face._

_He shakes his head and whips off his coat, running out to her through the rain to wrap it around her shoulders. "Now, come on. Let's get you warmed up."_

_He keeps his arm wrapped around her and leads her into the nearest open building, which turns out to be a pub. "'ere," he calls. "Some brandy to warm the lady!"_

_Mary looks down. "Brandy gives me a terrible headache," she admits quietly._

"_Well, we can't 'ave that now, can we?" he asks rhetorically. "What'll you 'ave?"_

"_Nothing, thank you," she says to cover the fact that she doesn't drink alcohol enough to have any idea what to order._

_She shivers again and he shakes his head. "No, no, you'll 'ave something. I'll not 'ave you catching cold on me watch." They've only met two or three times before but instinctively he knows she's out of her comfort zone, so he turns to the bartender. "She'll 'ave a rum punch," he orders. "Nothing for meself, but I'll pay."_

"_No matter," the bartender replies. "I know you're good for it, Bert."_

_He leads her to the seat nearest the fireplace which has been conveniently vacated. "I sweep the chimney," he explains. "And on the colder nights, me and a few buddies'll nip in 'ere for a drink."_

"_I see," Mary says, mostly just for something to say._

"_There, you're looking better already," he comments. "The color's coming back to your cheeks!"_

_She smiles and ducks her head. "I do feel warmer," she admits. "But now you look wetter! I'm sorry I took your coat. Here." She tries to slip out of the garment, but he places his hands back on her shoulders and doesn't let her._

"_You keep it until I say so," he insists. "I'm not the one daft enough to fly through a storm!"_

_Before she can retort, her drink arrives. "I really am fine," she insists, eying the glass nervously. She's not exactly sure how she'll react to it and it worries her._

"_People 'oo get their feet wet 'ave to take their medicine," he responds easily. "Now, drink up."_

"_It's hardly medicine," she glares but takes a defiant sip. "Why, that's delicious!" she exclaims._

"_See? Not too bad is it?"_

"_No. It's not. Thank you, Bert. For everything."_

"_Anything for you, Mary Poppins. Anything at all."_

_Mary hides her smile by taking another sip. And so begins Mary Poppins' love affair with rum punch._

"Mary Poppins, you won't ever leave us, will you?" Jane asks as she hustles them to bed.

"Do you have a handkerchief under your pillow?" Mary deflects.

"Will you stay if we promise to be good?" Michael inquires.

"Oh, that's a pie crust promise," Mary replies curtly but her heart breaks just a little, "easily made, easily broken."

"Whatever would we do without you?" Jane continues.

"I shall stay until the wind changes." It's her customary answer.

"Mary Poppins, how long will that be?"

"Silence, please, it's time to go to sleep," she orders, fussing with the wet clothing in front of the fireplace.

"Oh, we couldn't _possibly _go to sleep!" Jane exclaims. "So many lovely things have happened today!"

"Did they?"

The children start to outline every last exciting detail of the day… well, every last exciting detail they know about. Mary pretends not to remember; she's very aware that there has to be two sides of her—the magical nanny to the children and the firm governess to their parents.

"Mary Poppins, don't you remember?" Jane frowns. "You won the horse race!"

"A respectable person like me in a horse race? How _dare _you suggest such a thing!" Mary denies, keeping her face perfectly straight.

"But I saw you do it!" Michael insists.

Mary widens her eyes and fixes them with an infuriated stare. "Now, not another word or I shall have to summon a police man. Is that clear?"

Jane and Michael insist that they're too excited to sleep. Mary nearly sighs in frustration but catches herself and tells them to suit themselves then proceeds to sing them to sleep.

It doesn't take them long to fall asleep and Mary smiles fondly. They really are good children and she enjoys spending time with them.

She turns her eyes back to her knitting but becomes aware of a tapping at the window of her bedroom. She goes and opens it, looking down to find Bert throwing pebbles. "You really have terrible aim, you know," she whispers when it becomes clear that the pebbles miss far more than they hit the glass.

"Got your attention, didn't it?" he retorts.

"One moment," she requests, leaving the window to grab her umbrella and coat. She sits on the sill, swinging her legs out, and then floats gracefully down to the pavement. "Hello, Bert."

He kisses her cheek softly, mostly just because he can. "Hello, Mary Poppins."

"Well, did you have a plan for this evening or are we just going to stand here and stare?"

With a laugh, he takes her hand and leads her to the park. A thick wool blanket has been laid out underneath the now clear skies.

She raises an eyebrow as they sit. "You had this ready? How did you know I'd agree to come out at all?"

"I know you, Mary Poppins. Besides," he grins cheekily. "There's only been one time I've ever known you to say no to me."

"I really am sorry."

"'twas for the best," he says easily. "An' we're 'ere now and that's all that matters. But now I want to know everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything that's 'appened in the last five years. The good, the bad, anything you want to tell."

She shakes her head. "I want to hear about _you_. I don't want to talk about myself. I'm really very dull."

"You're wrong there, Mary Poppins," he responds, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I find you _endlessly _fascinating."

She laughs. "You have to say that. You're in love with me!"

"You never know," he insists. "Me brother once was in love with a girl 'oo could 'ave 'ad a very promising career as a lamp post!"

"Bert, really, be kind," she scolds.

He winks and leans back to look up at the sky, stretching out and leaning on his elbows. She continues to sit up straight, her legs tucked gracefully beneath her. "So, 'ow 'ave you been?" he asks.

"You have a brother?" she counters, finally processing the information from his previous statement.

"I do," he confirms. "Don't seem 'im often. 'e's in America."

"Oh." They fall silent for a moment until she finally says what's on her mind. "Bert, I… you know so much about me, but I feel as if I hardly know anything about you!"

"Not much to tell," he says quietly, becoming serious.

"I'd like to know. If it's alright with you."

"Mary, I just… I don't want it to go changing your opinion of me."

"I assure you, nothing could ever do that, not for the worst, at least."

He sighs and lies all the way down. "It's a long story."

She lies down beside him, taking his hand. "I'm here. And I'm not leaving."

With another sigh, he starts, telling of her of his happy childhood. His mother had a touch of magic—not much, just enough to get them into drawings and some trouble, but never anything too worrisome. His father had loved her and his boys more than life itself. She had died when Bert was ten and his brother six. After that, his father could only find solace at the bottom of a bottle and he could be a mean drunk on occasion. Bert tells her he was lucky that he looked like his father, because dear old dad—the words are fraught with sarcasm she didn't know she was capable of—couldn't stand William for looking like their mother. On more than one occasion, Bert had taken a belt meant for his younger brother.

He pauses here to study Mary's reaction. She looks calmly back at him but there's a glimmer of unshed tears behind her eyes. "We can stop 'ere," he says uncomfortably.

"No," she insists. "If you're comfortable telling me more, I want to hear it."

He continues on with his story, seeming to get lighter with every word. He had dropped out of school at the age of twelve, picking up odd jobs to keep bread on the table. William had repaid his kindness by getting into a bit of trouble with the law and running off to America—he says this without malice; he hears from his brother every now and again and William has made good, even found a woman to accept his jaded past and is expecting his second child any day now. His father had died the following year, when Bert was twenty-one and Bert had arranged the funeral. He was angry with his father, of course, but he was still his father and, as stupid as it seemed, he still loved him.

A year to the day after the funeral, Bert had found an odd woman staring at his drawings with the same look his mother used to get before they were suddenly on the Riviera or at the circus. And life had been getting brighter ever since then.

"'ere, Mary, don't cry," Bert pleads, wiping her silent tears away with his free hand. "I wouldn't 'ave told you if I knew it'd make you cry!"

She shakes her head, trying to reconcile this new information with her view of him. This is Bert, _her_ Bert, the one who always has a smile close at hand and who never has an ill word to say about anyone! Bert, who is always the first one to greet her arrival in London and who happily shakes the hand of anyone needing a bit of luck! To know that he's able to do all of that in spite of his childhood, well, it's… it's almost breathtaking.

She leans forward and kisses him. "You are the most wonderful human being I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, Herbert Alfred," she informs him seriously. "And I will love you until the end of time."

"Now that's what I like to 'ear!" he exclaims with a grin.

She laughs as the sky starts to turn a rosy pink at the edge. "I really must be getting back. Jane and Michael will wake soon."

"They're good kids," he asserts as he folds up the blanket and they start to walk. "They might be me favorites out of 'em all!"

She shakes her head. "It would never do for me to play favorites."

He studies her. "You love 'em, don't you, Mary Poppins?"

"What, pray tell, would happen to me if I loved every one of my charges?" she asks haughtily.

"I'm not asking about every one of 'em, I'm asking about the Banks kids!"

She exhales noisily. "Saying goodbye will be… unpleasant."

"Then don't say goodbye," he tells her. "Say farewell instead! Because goodbye-"

"Is permanent," she finishes. "But farewell's until we meet again."

He kisses her cheek quickly as they come to 17 Cherry Tree Lane. "Farewell, Mary Poppins. I'll be seeing you around."

"Farewell, Bert."

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed!<strong>

**I have the next chapter written, but I don't think I'll have time to post it until I'm back in the States... Look for it some time around maybe Wednesday! :)**

**-Juli-**


	3. Pages

**Happy Birthday to me! Have a present because I'm in a good mood. And because I'd like you to read this.**

**So I told you I like dark back stories! I've even managed to give Mary Poppins a bit of one. I think it fits with her character rather well, but you, of course, may completely disagree.**

**Unfortunately, Disney has not decided to give me ownership of Mary Poppins. Or of anything, really, except my Mickey ear collection from Disneyland and I had to pay for all of them.**

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><p>Regardless of her late night, Mary Poppins is up and tidying the nursery before Jane and Michael even think about waking up. When they stir, she's ready. "Well, come on then!" she exclaims. "Out of bed. The sun is up and the day's begun! I won't have you frittering it away in bed. There are errands to be run. Spit spot!"<p>

Jane and Michael both groan as she pulls the curtains back and rub their eyes groggily, but get out of bed nonetheless.

She sees them dressed and fed, then hurries them into their coats. "Come along, children!" she calls merrily as she herds them out the door. She's exhausted from the night before but the world seems brighter than ever.

She pulls out her to-do list as they exit the house. "Now, let's see," she says as she reads. "First of all, we must go to the piano tuners and then we go to Mrs. Corry's shop-"

She's cut off by Michael jumping from the porch. She looks to make sure he's okay, then ignores him when it's clear he is. "Mrs. Corry's shop," she continues, "for some gingerbread... Gingerbread!" She can't help interjecting happily and adding a small hop. My, how this morning is shaping up! "And then we go to the fishmongers, I think, for a nice Dover sole and a pint of prawns." She turns around to look at Michael, who continues to lag behind. "Michael, stop stravaging along behind!"

After a rather entertaining exchange with Admiral Boom, they're on their way, only to be stopped by Andrew. He barks the news of Uncle Albert's illness and Mary immediately begins striding after the dog. The children have to run to keep up with her.

She tries not to show how worried she is when she rings the bell. "Oh, Bert, I'm glad you're here!"

She doesn't know why she's surprised. He's always turned up when she needs him.

_Mary rings the doorbell carefully, studying the formidable door in front of her and debating how best to greet the person who answers it. She shifts uncomfortably, dressed in dark, staid clothes rather more suited to a funeral than a homecoming._

_The door swings open. "Bert!" she exclaims in surprise. "You're here!"_

"_I came as soon 'as I 'eard," he explains._

"_Oh?"_

"_Can't 'ave you going through this alone now, can I?" he asks rhetorically. He's always taken such good care of her._

"_So then I've-"_

_He shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Mary Poppins. She's gone."_

"_Oh. I see."_

"_Mary Pop-"_

_She sighs, interrupting whatever he might say, and puts on a brave face. "Well, nothing to be done about it, I suppose." She walks into her childhood home and takes off her coat, hanging it in the coat closet. "I'll get started on the funeral arrangements right away."_

"_Er, they're…. they've been taken care of," he says sheepishly._

_She turns to look at him. "By whom?"_

"_Well, uh… me."_

_She frowns. "You planned my mother's funeral?"_

"_I knew you two didn't exactly get on… I just thought it might be easier for you if you didn't 'ave to do anything…"_

_She exhales and it almost seems as if she becomes smaller. "Thank you, Bert."_

"_Only problem is I didn't know what to put for 'er, um, epitaph."_

_Mary pauses. Most of the phrases of love would be out of place on her mother's grave. Mrs. Poppins had a way about her—a sort of imperious efficiency—that had made her a wonderful wife of a wealthy business man and a wonderful hostess but hardly a suitable mother. Mary's childhood was spent upstairs in the nursery, sent for only on occasion and only when it suited the present company. She didn't mind the sort of show horse treatment until she was old enough to resent it and then she _really_ did resent it. She knew that her mother, while certainly very proud of her only child—a girl who could sing and play arias on the piano by age ten and knew when to be seen and not heard—had no real affection for her. She had had a child because that was simply what was expected and had given really very little thought to raising her until it was time to teach her how to be a lady, and then, when it was clear she wouldn't be the same domineering overlord her mother was—not with the magic she had unfortunately never grown out of as hoped—a governess._

_Mary had been very aware the day she had left her home for good that she owed her regal bearing to her mother, her clear thinking to her shrewd business man of a father, and every idea of kindness and compassion she had to the series of nannies and servants that had been engaged to take care of her. While she was grateful to them, she has never quite forgiven her mother for it._

_Her mother is buried the day after Mary arrives in London. Instead of putting any descriptive words of loss and mourning, Mary chooses a phrase that is probably out of place on a grave, but her mother's favorite, and—surprisingly—Mary's as well: "A thing of beauty is a joy forever."_

_She doesn't cry at the funeral and her eyes remain dry while she thanks her way through the wake as people come up to offer their condolences, now that she's an orphan at twenty-three._

_Finally all of the guests go home and she collapses into a chair in her father's old study. Bert finds her there, one hand gracefully covering her eyes, shielding them from the light. "You alright?"_

"_Just a bit of a headache," she admits. "Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix, I'm sure."_

"'_ave you cried at all, Mary Poppins?" he asks suddenly._

_She glares at him. "I didn't cry at my father's funeral and I most certainly will not cry now. I can't stand such a useless behavior."_

"_It may be useless, but that doesn't mean we don't all need it sometimes. Even you, Mary Poppins."_

_She sniffs. "I can't see why I would." There's the slightest quiver in her voice. "My mother and I hadn't spoken in nearly five years."_

_He nods and takes her hand, rubbing the back of it soothingly with his thumb. "I know. But she's still your mother and she's the only one you 'ad."_

_And with that, Mary Poppins feels the dam break. She cries, not for the loss of her mother really, but for the missed opportunities and for the woman she'd never get the chance to understand. Bert pulls her close and wraps his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head and letting her soak his shirt with tears._

"_It'll be alright, Mary," he promises quietly. "You'll be alright."_

_It's the first time he's forgotten her surname. Looking back later, she knows that was the moment she fell hopelessly in love with her best friend._

"I came over the moment I 'eard," he says, letting them into the small house.

"Well, how is he?" she asks anxiously.

"I've never seen 'im as bad as this an' that's the truth." She hurries to the door. "What about them?" he asks, nodding to the children. "It's contagious, you know."

"Shall we get spots?" Jane inquires.

"Oh, highly unlikely," Mary answers curtly as she enters the room where she'll find Uncle Albert. They're good children and can probably manage this. "Oh, Uncle Albert!" she exclaims when she finds him laughing hysterically at a newspaper, floating in midair.

"Bless me!" he grins. "Bless my soul! It's Mary Poppins! I'm delighted to see you, Mary," he giggles.

She gives him a disappointed look. "Uncle Albert, you promised."

"I know," he laughs. "But I tried, really, I did, my dear, I- but I so enjoy laughing you know… And when I start, it's all up with the- I love to laugh- I can't help it, you can see that- I just like laughing, that's all!"

Jane and Michael start laughing and Mary scolds them. "Jane, don't you dare! You'll only make him worse. It's really quite serious!"

"Yes, whatever you do, keep a straight face," Bert continues and Mary's glad for the help. "Last time, it took us three days to get him down."

"_Oh, Mary, good, you're 'ere!" Bert says when he opens the door._

_She sweeps into the hallway, closing her umbrella. "And where else might I be, may I ask?" She doesn't give him time to answer, her fingers flying to unbutton her coat. "How is he?"_

"_It's bad this time," he says. "Very bad."_

_She frowns. "What set him off?"_

"_I-I think a column in the paper," Bert says with a blush. She thinks he might be lying._

_She sighs and opens the door. "Uncle Albert, I thought we agreed that you weren't going to read that silly paper anymore," she scolds._

"_I'm sorry, my dear, I really am, but it's just…. It's just… I love it- and you know- I can't stop- it's-" he wheezes._

_She can see that he will not be coming down any time soon. "Have you had anything to eat, Uncle Albert?" she asks._

"_Not- not since my toast this morning," he chuckles._

_She sighs. "I'll fix you supper. Please do work on controlling yourself."_

_For the next three days, she and Bert work tirelessly, drinking coffee through the night, reading newspapers and wracking their brains for anything that might be sad enough to bring him down. She constantly insists that she can take care of her only living relative if he would like to go, but he insists on staying._

_She finally convinces him to take a nap and goes to talk to her uncle. "Uncle Albert, what triggered this onset?" she asks. "It might help if I knew."_

"_Oh, didn't Bert tell you yet?" Uncle Albert laughs. "He hasn't? Oh my, well, that's just not my place- no, I couldn't- but I was just so happy when- a man should tell- when you're in love it's just-"_

_Mary feels her heartbeat quicken. Ever since her mother's funeral, she's felt differently about Bert and Uncle Albert's ramblings hint slightly that she might not be the only one with changed feelings. "I beg your pardon?" she asks, trying to stay calm._

"_Oh no, I couldn't possibly," Uncle Albert chuckles. "He'll have to tell you himself!"_

_She sighs and resists the urge to stamp her foot. Then she turns on her heel and walks out of the room, nearly running into Bert as she shuts the door harder than she intended. "Oh, Bert, I'm sorry!"_

"_Don't worry, Mary," he grins, sounding a bit winded. "I'm stronger than I seem."_

"_Bert, I… while you're here, I just wanted to say thank you. Not many people would do as much as you do for me. I wanted you to know that I appreciate it. Especially now, with Uncle Albert."_

_A blush starts to creep up the back of Bert's neck. "Well, 'e's your family, Mary Poppins. And I… I consider you me own family, an' family takes care of each other. An' I'd do anything for you. You know that."_

_Mary Poppins rarely does anything spontaneous, but perhaps the exhaustion is getting to her for she leans forward and presses her lips softly to his. "Thank you. For everything."_

_As suddenly as it started, it's over. "Mary, what was that?" he asks, running his fingers over his lips._

"_I'm sorry!" she apologizes, becoming aware of what she just did. "I just-"_

"_No, no!" he replies hurriedly. "Don't apologize. Not for that. Mary, I… I've loved you for years now."_

_She feels a little faint. "Really?"_

"_Cross me 'eart."_

_She smiles. "I… I love you too, Bert. I do." And then she sweeps back into Uncle Albert's sitting room as a wave of inspiration hits her. "Uncle Albert, I must be off." _

"_Did Bert- did he tell you, Mary?" he asks._

"_I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Bert certainly has no feelings for me nor I for him. And that's the truth," she lies._

"_Oh, that's sad. That's really, really sad." She's never seen him fall to the ground faster. _

"_Bert!" she calls happily. "Bert, he's come down!"_

_He all but runs into the room. "I knew you could do it, Mary Poppins! But 'ow?"_

"_That's between Uncle Albert and I," she sniffs. "Now, I really must be leaving."_

"_You'll… you'll call when you come back to London?" Bert asks nervously._

_Her lips curve into a smile. "Certainly. Before I go though, Uncle Albert, I'd like to apologize."_

"_Apologize, my dear? What for?"_

_She takes Bert's hand in her own and smiles. "I lied."_

_You can hardly hear for the uproarious laughter of Uncle Alfred. But Mary and Bert both scramble to hold him down and he stays grounded. _

Bert starts to snicker but Mary fixes him with a stare and he stops immediately, looking down sheepishly.

Mary shakes her head disapprovingly as Uncle Albert laughs on the ceiling and everyone else starts to join in. She turns to Bert. "You're no help at all!"

That stops him for all of about five seconds. She begins to tease them about their laughs to get them to stop. Bert decides to join in, only, of course, he can't take anything seriously. "You know, you're as bad as he is," Mary informs him, rolling her eyes up to Uncle Albert.

And soon, Bert is on the ceiling. Mary turns away and shoots him a disapproving glare. _This _is the man she has fallen in love with… Well, Uncle Albert's particularly joyful problem _does _run in the Poppins family. No matter that Bert is not technically a Poppins—he _is _family.

She catches the children the first time they start to float, but doesn't the second time and soon all four of them are laughing up a storm.

"I must say, you're a sight, the lot of you," she comments. They ignore her and Bert tells a joke. "Such behavior!" she scolds. "Why, it's the most disgraceful sight I've ever seen or my name isn't Mary Poppins!"

"Speaking of names, I know a man with a wooden leg named Smith," Bert says.

"What's the name of his other leg?" Uncle Albert asks.

Mary rolls her eyes. Do the jokes have to be terrible too? She pulls out her clock. "Now then children, it's time for tea. I'll not have my schedule interrupted."

"Oh please stay," Uncle Albert begs. "Look, I have a splendid tea all ready for you!"

"And it's getting _cold_."

"Well, I _had _hoped that maybe you would-"

Mary raises an eyebrow and the table rises to meet them.

"Splendid! Thank you very much!"

"I knew she could bring it off," Bert comments, a note of pride in his voice. "And a proper tea, it is too!"

"Next thing, I suppose, you'll be wanting me to pour out." She sighs. "Ah well, if I must I must." She raises her eyes to the ceiling and floats up. "If you'll just stop behaving like a pack of laughing hyenas." She bangs her umbrella on the table. That sobers even Bert for a moment.

She tries to lead by example and act dignified but that only works for about ten seconds. She can't get them to calm down until she mentions that it's time to go and that works perfectly to get them down.

Of course, she has to worry about Uncle Albert—these things do tend to upset him so. But she _is _pleased with the children's manners when they try to cheer him. As she herds them out the door, she turns around. "Keep an eye on Uncle Albert, will you, Bert?"

"I'll sit with 'im awhile," he agrees.

"Thank you," she says as they walk out the door. He's so willing to help her; she only wishes she could do more for him.

As they leave, she hears Bert tell a joke in hopes of cheering Uncle Albert up. She rolls her eyes—it's the worst of the lot. But at least Uncle Albert agrees with her.

"I always say there's nothing like a good joke," Bert says.

"No," Uncle Albert agrees. "And that was _nothing _like a good joke!"

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><p><strong>I know Mary Poppins wasn't actually in the room for that last exchange between Bert and Uncle Albert but I <strong>_**had **_**to include it, since it's pretty much the one line in the whole movie that never fails to make me absolutely crack up. I actually quote it quite frequently. And no one ever understands me, which is really quite frustrating.**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed!**

**-Juli-**


	4. Inscription

**Happy I Made It Through My First Week Back At School Day! I don't have an awful lot of time anymore, but be assured that I'm working really hard to keep my updating habits at least semi-regular.**

**As always, I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>She knows from the moment Mr. Banks walks in the door that she's about to be reprimanded. She's used to this sort of treatment—whoever is the most ensconced in their own world in a house will almost always blame her for turning it upside down.<p>

She's ready for him; the children have been fed and bathed and she's seen them into their pajamas. She is back in her nursery clothes, prim, proper, and demure—everything to be asked for in a nanny. She descends the stairs as the children tell him about Uncle Albert's and that she said she'd take them there again. "Oh? Mary Poppins said that, did she? Will you please return to your room?" Then he turns his attention to her. "Mary Poppins, will you kind enough to come with me?"

"As you wish," she agrees, nodding her head demurely. The children pause on the stairs but without looking at them, she wills them to keep going and not see this. They do, shooting each other a look looking terribly sad.

"Mary Poppins, I very much regret what I must say to you," he says. She follows him quietly, hands pressed together; he won't find fault with her.

"Good evening, George! Is anything the matter?" Mrs. Banks exclaims in that breathy, excited way of hers.

"I'm afraid there is."

"I'd love to stay," Mrs. Banks says, distracted as always, "but I have to dress for my rally in Hampstead!"

He grabs her wrist to stop her. "Winifred, it is my wish that you be present!"

"Yes, George, of course!" Mary wishes it would have taken Winifred just a moment longer to consent, but that's really none of her business.

"Mary Poppins," Mr. Banks starts, walking away. Mary follows attentively. "I must confess that I'm _extremely _disappointed in you!"

"She's for it now," Mary hears Ellen whisper from the kitchen. "I've 'eard the master do this speech before."

She remains placid, her face unreadable. She has to let Mr. Banks say his piece first. "I don't deny that I am partially responsible for allowing the children to spend their days on worthless frivolities to the exclusion of all else. But it is high time they learned the seriousness of life!"

"But George," Winifred interrupts, "they're only children."

"Precisely!" Mr. Banks exclaims, though Mary quite agrees with his wife. "And in the light of what has happened-"

"George, are you _certain _you know what you're doing?" Mrs. Banks interrupts again. Mary could hug her—this is the first time she's seen either of the Banks really invested in what is best for their children. Well, aside from when they hired her, of course.

"I believe I do, Winifred." He then starts in on British banks and British homes. Tradition, discipline, and rules. It's not a horrible formula in theory, although he does seem to think a bit too much rests on the shoulders of precision and order. Disorder and chaos are fine, but her eyes widen when he mentions moral disintegration. That seems a bit excessive. Still, she agrees with him to lay the groundwork.

He continues on about life being a looming battle, which Mary happens to quite disagree with, but no matter. Then he starts in on the nonsensical adventures his children are having. Well, she's quite fine with him thinking his children are the victims of fanciful thinking, but then he calls her outings questionable! That takes her a second to swallow, but she does. For the good of the children. She knows if she loses her temper now, she'll be out on the street within minutes. And then where would Jane and Michael be?

She nearly loses her temper again when he insists that all outings should be practical and educational. _Perhaps I should be teaching them French while they sleep_, she thinks sarcastically, biting her tongue. _Then hopefully there'd be none of this fanciful dreaming._

Still she knows an opening when she sees one and even though she's annoyed beyond belief with Mr. Banks, she knows he needs to spend more time with his children. She also knows that he's providing her with the perfect opportunity to make him think so too.

He's the one who brought up the bank and the raising of the children. From there, it's not a big leap to steamrolling him into taking the children to the bank with him.

She almost laughs on her way up the stairs. Poor Mr. Banks looks dreadfully confused. Then he convinces himself that it really was his idea and goes back to his usual bravado.

The children are waiting for her and spring up the second she opens the door. "Mary Poppins, we _won't _let you go!" Jane exclaims as they run towards her.

She frowns. "Go? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Didn't you get sacked?" Michael asks as they stand there, looking quite bereft at the possibility of losing her.

"_Sacked_?" Mary cries, indignant. "Certainly not! I am _never_ sacked!"

"Oh, Mary Poppins!" Jane grins. She and Michael begin dancing excitedly around her with various cries of "Hooray!"

Mary raises her eyes to the ceiling. "Neither am I a maypole. Kindly stop spinning about me."

"But-"

She leans down. "Goats butt, birds fly, and children who are going on an outing with their father must get some sleep."

She hustles them to bed, but they're full of questions. And then Jane has the impertinence to suggest that she put the idea in his head! Which, of course, she did, but Jane shouldn't know that.

"What an impertinent thing to say!" Mary exclaims. "_Me_, putting ideas into people's heads. Really." She rolls her eyes again.

"_That one! I want to go there!" Jemima Grey, all of seven years old and redheaded as can be, exclaims, pointing at a chalk drawing._

_Mary looks. She could nearly hit Bert for even drawing it—a frozen tundra with a single polar bear ambling along. Jemima thinks it looks wonderful. Mary thinks it looks cold._

"_That does certainly look appealing," she says carefully. "Of course, I do have to wonder…"_

_Jemima looks up. "Wonder? Wonder what?"_

"_It's just that polar bear. It gives me pause."_

"_Why?"_

"_Not all polar bears are nice, you know," Mary informs the girl, her gaze warning Bert to stay out of this._

_Jemima frowns. "He's not nice?"_

"_I didn't say that. Do pay attention to what people say, Jemima."_

_Jemima reconsiders her decision. "Oh!" she exclaims. "This looks lovely!"_

_Her latest choice is a deserted beach, complete with dressing tents, umbrellas, and lounge chairs. Quite acceptable. She transports them there quickly before Jemima can change her mind._

_She lounges in her bathing suit while Jemima and Bert splash around in the waves and she has to smile. The two make quite a pair, Jemima shrieking with laughter as Bert chases her, lifting his knees high in a silly sort of gait._

_Mary closes her eyes. She misses what happens next, but she can surmise—there's a red pail abandoned in the sand, Bert looks at Jemima with that mischievous glint in his eyes and fills the bucket. By unspoken agreement, they silently creep towards Mary Poppins._

_Mary's eyes pop open as she senses their approach but it's too late. Jemima flings the cold seawater all over her and nearly collapses in a fit of giggles. Bert grins and covers his laugh with a cough._

_She surveys them both coolly. "Oh, you think that's funny, do you?"_

_Jemima immediately stops laughing, fearing they may have overstepped their bounds._

"_I'll thank you both to remember the Golden Rule: treat others as you would have them treat you!"_

_With that, she snaps and buckets of water fly from the ocean to dump on their heads. Jemima shrieks in delight. Then she sees some chalk children playing, so she runs off to join them._

_Mary and Bert both towel off. "Don't think I don't know it was you," Mary comments mildly._

"_Me 'oo what?" Bert asks innocently._

"_You put that idea in Jemima's head and don't think I'm unaware of the fact."_

_He laughs and shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not sure you're in a position to be judging me on that."_

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"_I think, by rights, that should 'ave been a snowball, not a pail of water!"_

"_That tundra looked cold," Mary defends herself. "I can't imagine why you even drew it."_

_He grins cheekily and moves closer to push a soaked lock of hair behind her ear. "Maybe I was thinking of cuddling up to one Miss Mary Poppins. After all, a person could use an awful lot of warming up in a place like that."_

_Her cheeks flush and she has to collect herself before speaking. "That would be highly inappropriate," she says. "Allowing a polar bear to eat my charge just so you could have some alone time with me."_

_He laughs. "And I suppose it would be 'ighly inappropriate if I were to kiss you right now."_

"_Oh, only moderately, I should think."_

"_Moderately is an entirely diff'rent story," he says and wraps an arm around her waist, bringing her in for a passionate kiss. "I love you, Mary Poppins."_

_She smiles but says nothing. It is time for some revenge for the way he just flustered her so easily._

"_Well, aren't you going to say it back?"_

"_I shouldn't think so. Not today."_

"_Aw, go on, Mary."_

_She moves out of his reach. "I don't think I shall," she says lightly._

"_You loved me yesterday," he points out. "So I know you do."_

"_Oh, yesterday's an entirely different story."_

"_I'll not stop bothering you until you say it! Go on, Mary Poppins, say you love me too."_

"_Alright," she grins, "I love me too."_

_He glares and sulks on a towel in the sand. She moves to sit next to him, far too close for propriety in London, but they're not in London. "An' just what do you think you're doin'?" he asks._

"_You did mention cuddling, did you not? I'm soaking, Bert. From _your _prank, no less. I could use the warming up."_

"_What do you say?"_

_She makes a show of rolling her eyes. "I love you too, Bert. More than anything."_

_He wraps his arms around her and she settles into his embrace. Then she looks up at him. "Don't think I don't know you put this idea in my head."_

"_I wasn't so subtle with that one, was I?"_

"_No. You _can_ kiss me, you know."_

"_Oh," he chuckles. "Now oo's putting ideas into people's 'eads?"_

"_I am doing nothing of the sort. Do you or do you not want to kiss me?"_

"_More than anything," he says agreeably._

"_Well, then."_

"_But Mary…"_

"_Yes?"_

"_That polar bear was a nice chap."_

_She laughs and he takes the opportunity to cover her mouth with his._

The children drop the subject and start asking her about their outing. Jane gets so excited when she mentions that they're going into the city, anticipating Mr. Banks showing them all the sights. Mary frowns slightly, remembering a lesson she learned when she was only a little older than Jane.

"Well, most things, he can," Mary interjects. "Sometimes a person we love, through no fault of his own, can't see past the end of his nose."

"Past the end of his nose?" Jane asks.

Mary retrieves her snow globe from her room and smiles gently. "Yes. Sometimes a small thing can be quite important."

_Mary surveys the city mutely. She was supposed to be with her father today. He was supposed to take her to see the sights. He had shown her the cathedral on their way to work and the bank where a good chunk of their personal fortune was held. An emergency had called him away without so much as a backwards glance. She tried to behave like a good girl, she really did. But Father's office wasn't decorated with entertaining a ten-year-old girl in mind. She shuffled some paper around on his desk, toyed with a pen, but it was all so boring. She settled for watching the clock._

_He'd been gone nearly two hours. She was certain he'd forgotten about her. And then she got angry. He wouldn't even notice if she were to go missing. So, she decided, she'd go missing._

_Only now she's back at the cathedral and she doesn't know where to go. Her family's estate isn't anywhere near here. She's not quite regretting her impulsive move, but she's feeling rather uncomfortable. A lot can happen to a little lost girl._

"_Feed the birds? Tuppence a bag." Mary turns at the sound. An older, bedraggled woman offers her a bag of bird feed._

"_Oh!" Mary exclaims excitedly, reaching out before her face falls. "Oh, I'm afraid I don't have any money."_

_The woman smiles and pats the stone step beside her. Against her better judgment, Mary sits down. "What's your name, dear heart?" the woman asks._

"_What's yours?" Mary, whose measurement at the time read "suspicious and prone to flight," responds quickly._

_The lady laughs, a deep, bawdy sort of laugh from the bottom of her stomach. "It's been so long, dear one, so long that even the birds have forgotten it!"_

"_You speak to the birds?" Mary feels a little skip in her heartbeat. Just last week, a lark landed on her windowsill and she would have sworn he said hello._

"_They speak to me, dear one, yes."_

"_And you know what they say?"_

"_I do. For example, that one over there, he's very hungry, but the one next to him has children to feed."_

"_I wish I could help," Mary sighs, placing her head in her hands._

_The bird lady pulls out a bag and hands it to her. "Oh no, I couldn't!" Mary exclaims._

"_Dear one, you keep that genuine heart. It will serve you well."_

_They feed the birds for awhile in silence until the bird lady speaks again._

"_Where are your parents? Surely a pretty girl such as yourself has a warm bed to get home to."_

_Mary looks down at her patent leather shoes and is suddenly ashamed of them. She scuffs them on purpose. It feels deliciously naughty. "No one will notice if I'm gone."_

"_Nonsense, dear one. Anyone would miss you, I should think. Now, come along, I'll walk you home."_

_When they reach the formidable gate, Mary could almost die of embarrassment. But the bird lady doesn't notice it. "Now, you come back and visit me, dear one. I'm here every day, all day."_

"_I've never seen you," Mary frowns._

"_Then you didn't look past the end of your own nose," the bird lady says. "Don't ever forget the birds, dear one." _

_Mary goes inside. No one hugs her, delighted over her safety. No one even berates her. She might as well be invisible. In that moment, she promises that she'll always stop to speak to the bird lady from now on. _

_She has kept that promise ever since and she's proud to number the bird lady amongst her dearest friends. And when Mary had introduced her to Bert, the bird lady had nodded happily, secure in the knowledge that her dear one had found someone who could see far, far past the end of his nose._

The children fall asleep as she tells them of the bird lady. Mary tucks them in, trying to tamp down a surge of tenderness. It fails and she smoothes Jane's hair with a smile.

It worries her that she has the urge to kiss both their foreheads and tuck them in a second time.

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><p><strong>I hope you liked it!<strong>

**-Juli-**

**P.S. Somewhere in there, there's a really, really unsubtle reference to another movie.**


	5. Dedication

**I'm sorry these updates are taking me so long to crank out! School is completely eating my life up right now and I fear it shall stay that way for the rest of my college career. Yay for education. Regardless of how long it's taken me, I do hope you like this! We're almost to the end, after all!**

**I own nothing, as always.**

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><p>She wakes the children early to get them dressed for their outing with their father. She sends them off hastily, eager to begin her day off. She's well aware that they're about to get into trouble—it's necessary to bring their family closer together—though she doesn't know exactly what they'll do. Given what she knows about Jane and Michael, it's sure to be rather spectacular, but she has to let it happen. And in any case, she's rather excited to begin her day out.<p>

She checks her hair one last time as she places her hat on her head and smiles in satisfaction. Practically perfect. Then she grabs her favorite red coat and leaves before anyone can try to rope her into any of the chores.

She walks briskly down the lane until she comes to the park. Bert seems to sense her approach and looks up, a grin on his face as he wipes his forehead. She hides a smile when the rag he uses leaves a smear of green chalk, and she pulls out her handkerchief. "Come here," she commands, motioning to him. "You look ridiculous."

He approaches her obediently and she rubs the smudge off his face. She gets distracted and her hand traces his jaw. He leans in and captures her lips with his. The world goes quiet for a moment. Oh, how she's missed him! She deepens the kiss, hoping to convey just that.

The world creeps back in when a policeman blows his whistle nearby. "Well, good morning, Mary!" Bert grins.

She coughs discreetly, suddenly realizing how very public a venue this is. "Hello, Bert. How are you this morning?"

"Considerably better now, thanks for asking," he smiles cheekily. "Now, 'ave you 'ad your breakfast today?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

"Then per'aps you'll let me treat you?"

"Of course," she agrees. "I would appreciate it."

"Well, come on then." He nods towards the sidewalk and for the first time she notices the group of drawings he'd been working on. They're all lovely, but one catches her eye—a forest scene in the midst of a beautifully vibrant autumn. She looks to him and he nods, the signal that she's chosen correctly. In three seconds, they're standing in that gorgeous forest.

"Oh Bert," she sighs happily. "It's beautiful!"

He grins. "I 'oped you'd say that. Mary, you look…" he swallows nervously. "You look stunning."

Mary looks down at the deep red gown that has replaced her coat and then at her companion. "You look quite handsome yourself," she says, suddenly shy. He takes her hand. "Bert," she hisses, pulling away.

"Relax, Mary," he smiles reassuringly. "There's no one around."

She consents, too taken by the surroundings and by the pleasant weight of his hand in hers to care much about propriety. Besides, that kiss earlier, in front of the whole of London, hardly leaves her a leg to stand on.

They walk for awhile, reveling in nothing but the simple joy of the company of a person you love on a sunny fall day. Just as Mary is starting to think about the lack of promised breakfast, they come to a charming clearing with a white wrought-iron table and chairs. A piping hot coffee pot sits on top, next to a plate of steaming pancakes. "Impressive," she compliments him.

He preens, putting on a show for her and she giggles. "I wish you'd laugh more, Mary," he says. "There'd be no more need for music in the world."

"You greatly exaggerate," she chides. "Do continue."

"Your wish is my command, oh goddess on 'igh." His bow is ridiculously over the top.

Mary makes a face. "I am most certainly not a goddess. I wish you wouldn't call me that."

He looks worried. "Mary, if I've offended you…"

"It just makes me sound so… so _untouchable_, so above everyone and everything. There was a time in my life when that was my goal, to not need anything or anyone. But now, now I see that… well, that for all my… oddities, I'm human. I need food, water, and shelter. I need…" She becomes bashful and studies her hands as her cheeks color prettily. "I need to be touched. To be loved."

He takes her hand across the table. "I love you, Mary Poppins."

"And I you, Bert."

He shifts a little nervously. Suddenly, Mary knows what is coming, knows he's about to propose for the second time. "Mary, when we were 'ere the last ime, all I could think of was 'ow I'd give anything to make you my wife. But you left."

"I _am _sorry about that, Bert. You do believe me, don't you?"

"I do, but it's not important anymore. When you left, Mary, I tried to get over you—I tried to forget 'ow you made me feel an' I couldn't. Any time I tried to think of the future, you were the only one I could imagine there with me. An' I realized it's not fair of me to ask you to suddenly stop following the wind an' stay with me. That used to kill me, but now- now all I want is for you to be 'appy. An' if that means never living as 'usband and wife, I don't care. All I want is to see you smile an' 'ear you laugh."

"Bert-"

'Let me finish, alright?" She stays quiet. "I'm not asking you to marry me. An' I won't until you decide it's the life you want for yourself. Until then, I'm 'appy to sit an' wait for your days off, to greet you on your returns to London. An' all I want is to know that when you leave, you'll come back. So I'm not asking you to marry me, Mary. But I _do _'ave a proposal for you, if you'll just turn around."

Mary frowns at this last sentence, but does as he asks. Her eyes widen in surprise and her gloved hand covers her mouth. The butterflies in her stomach match the butterflies that flit behind her, spelling out the words "Be My Love."

"Oh Bert!" she exclaims, tears springing to her eyes, for once unable to find the appropriate words. "Oh _Bert_!"

He shifts nervously again and pulls out a ring with a delicate chain threaded through it. "I don't… I… This is for you, Mary. Not for your finger, not yet. But I thought- that is- I would be honored if you'd wear it around your neck."

"Of course!" She turns away from him and glances back shyly. "Might I trouble you to help me with the clasp?"

His hands brush her neck as he fastens the chain and a shiver courses through her body. She closes her eyes, hoping to ward off the suddenly brazen thoughts that a practically perfect nanny should most definitely _not _be having about the man she's not married to. "I love you, Mary mine," he whispers in her ear, sending another tremor down her spine.

She collects herself and turns around. "Mary mine?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Now it's his turn to redden as he tries to stammer out an explanation of this new nickname. "Well, you are… you are mine, aren't you, Mary? Even if I'm not your 'usband, you-"

She silences him by taking his hand. "You have been more of a husband to me throughout the years than many of the husbands in the families I've stayed with. If I am anyone's, I'm yours. And forever this time. You've just made that incredibly clear. Thank you for waiting for me."

A blush creeps up the back of his neck. "It's easy for you, Mary."

She shakes her head, raising her hand to caress his cheek. "I think you just make it look so." Then she kisses him again, this time allowing herself to get swept up in the emotion. It amazes her just how deep it all runs, how deeply she cares for him, how badly she wants him. The world starts to go fuzzy around the edges.

Just as her hands start to move to the buttons of his shirt and his from their respectful place on her hips, he pulls away. Already she misses the contact. "Mary-" he croaks. "Not now. Not 'ere. Not like this."

She coughs. "Right, of course. I can't think of what got into me."

"I love you too much, Mary mine. We'd regret it later."

"Of course."

"I promised Uncle Albert I'd clean 'is chimney before nightfall," he says awkwardly.

She nods.

"An' the kids, they'll be needing me soon."

"Right." She exhales noisily and draws herself up. She takes his hand and transports them back to London. "Go ahead. I'll be along shortly."

He pecks her lips. "I love you, Mary mine."

"I love you too, Bert. Now, do go. Jane and Michael will be scared half to death by the time you find them."

She waits until he's gone on his way and then sits down shakily, afraid of what she had nearly done, had been quite willing to do, how badly she should regret it, and how certainly she doesn't.

She heaves a sigh. Well, it's of no matter, though she's still upset with him for having that power over her. The only things that matters right now are the children. She stands and strides off to finish the errands she needs to do while Bert is otherwise occupied.

0ooo0

The rest of her day is successful, though she's worried about the trouble the Banks children will have caused by the time she gets done with her errands. By mid-afternoon, she knows they've managed to mess things up rather spectacularly, but that's hardly surprising, given the two rascals talent for getting into trouble, but she knows that it's all necessary. By the time she reaches Cherry Tree Lane, some of the wounds will have already begun to heal.

She's surprised to find Bert alone in the house with the children, but then remembers that Winifred has an engagement at the prison. Mary nearly rolls her eyes; she thinks the Cause—Mrs. Banks always speaks of suffrage as if it has a capital letter at the beginning—is worthy and incredibly important. At the same time, it's driving Mrs. Banks to the point of distraction and Mary wishes she'd pay more attention to her children.

She shakes off the disapproval and enters the drawing room, almost rolling her eyes when she sees Bert and both of the Banks' children with their heads up the fireplace.

"Michael, be careful," she warns, "You never know what may happen around a fireplace."

And just like that, his brush pulls him up the chimney.

"Oh, bother," she sighs.

Bert turns around. "Well, that's a bit awkward, I must say!" he exclaims.

"Bert, I'll thank you to stop putting ideas in their heads!" she snaps, probably more due to her frustration with herself than because of anything he might have done. While they're not paying attention, Jane follows in her brother's wake up the chimney. "There goes the other one!" Mary exclaim exasperatedly.

"Should we go after them?"

She almost rolls her eyes but refrains. "Well, we can't have them gallivanting up there like kangaroos, can we?" she asks rhetorically.

She pushes past him and gathers Jane and Michael's coats. Then she turns around and tilts her head towards the fireplace. "Well, come on then! Spit spot!"

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><p><strong>Do let me know if you have any suggestions, even for other stories!<strong>

**Until next time,  
>-Juli-<strong>


	6. Epiphany

**Can we please, please, please forget how woefully neglectful I've been of you all? I am _so _sorry! I had so many plans to write over Winter Break but it was the first time that I got to see most of my friends in months and I was so busy that I'd just sleep whenever I was at home. **

**This chapter doesn't really add anything into the story we already know, it mostly just deals with how I imagine Mary feels in the scene, so sorry about that. ****I do have some good news though: I'm almost done with this story! I've almost gotten the final chapter completely written, so hopefully that'll be up in the next week or so!**

**As always, I own nothing.**

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><p>"Will you put your things on <em>at once<em>!" Mary exclaims strictly as her umbrella tugs her up the chimney and she lands gracefully. She hands Jane and Michael their coats. She really would never forgive herself if they caught cold. "Hurry up, please. Spit spot!"

"There you are, I thought you'd left us!" Bert says as the chimney spits him out. Mary is incredibly aware of his every move and her heart speeds up as he approaches, coming to stand within inches of her.

"We didn't mean to," Jane sulks. Even Mary feels her heart thaw a little bit.

"Well, no 'arm done," Bert says. "Truth is, this is what you might call a for-tu-itious circumstance." Mary wonders what exactly he means by that and turns to look at him. "Look there," he continues, nodding so Jane and Michael turn around. "A trackless jungle just waitin' to be explored!" He pauses and gets an idea. "Why not, Mary Poppins?" he asks, turning to her.

Jane and Michael instantly turn to her and start begging. There's a moment that catches her by surprise. For the first time in her life, with the children pleading with her and Bert standing so close, Mary feels like a wife and mother. She sighs. "Ah well, if we must, we must."

She pulls out her compact and powders her nose with soot. She hopes Bert appreciates the gesture. Then she adopts a military persona. "Fall in! Look lively, look lively! Jump to it, jump to it! Get in line!" The children (two of them, but really three if you count Bert, which sometimes she does) all fall in line, standing stock still. "Attention!" she calls, drawing out the word. She leads them through a fake military drill and then off they go over the rooftops.

They get to the spot where she and Bert will usually turn around. She pauses. "Far as we go, right?" Bert asks.

She's feeling particularly daring tonight for whatever reason. "Not at all!" she practically sings and leads them onward.

They come to a gigantic gap leading up to the steeple of a church. Instead of halting, she uses her umbrella to create a staircase of smoke. They climb to the top; Michael and Jane stand before her, Bert comes to rest right beside her and once again Mary has that family feeling. She holds onto her hat and surveys the city, unable to hide her wonder.

"What did I tell ya?" Bert asks and Mary gets shivers, whether or not it's from his words or his sudden proximity she'll never know. "There's the 'ole world at your feet. An' 'oo gets to see it, but the birds, the stars, and the chimney sweeps?"

The sun sets and all of the electric lights in the city start to twinkle. There's a slight chill in the air, so Mary blames her shivers on that, never mind the coat she's wearing.

"Quite nice," she comments. "But we should all get in out of the night air. Follow me please."

Another cloud of smoke appears to cart the foursome down to a lower rooftop. It's the happiest that Mary can ever remember being. Up on that roof, she had gotten just an inkling of her future and she loved what she saw. She can't help but burst into song. She and Bert have always been very careful not to let her charges see their relationship and tonight is no real exception to that rule. They don't hold hands or anything like that, but when Bert joins in her song they _do _sway and their elbows seem to stay quite solidly connect though their arms aren't linked. She looks over and him and smiles, wondering how she managed to get so lucky.

The cloud sets them down on the chimney and everyone hops off as Mary and Bert finish singing and grin at each other.

"Cheroo!" comes the call after they've wrapped up their song. Mary tries to look stern when Bert nearly jumps in excitement but can only barely hide her smile.

"Step in time! Step in time!" Bert calls. Mary's a little surprised, but pleasantly so.

Mary smiles and taps her foot as the sweeps dance around them, Bert in the lead. In fact, she can't help but laugh.

She gets a little nervous when they start jumping over the gap between houses, but she knows all of the sweeps are quite adept at this sort of thing She applauds with pride when Bert and a couple of his friends do an acrobatic routine on the top of a raised part of the roof. He catches her eye and comes running towards her.

"Mary Poppins, step in time!" he calls and the sweeps echo. He pulls her into a whirling dance that would leave lesser dancers dizzy. She grins, in love with the feeling of his hands on her waist.

"Lucky ol' Bert!" one of the sweeps calls and Mary blushes.

She and Bert dance a little and she just loves how perfectly he leads her. They're well matched partners. Sadly, his friends cut in and dance with her. She doesn't mind—she knows them all and knows they'd never harm her or do anything to make her uncomfortable. In fact, she relishes the spotlight and leads them through a call and response dance. She grins when they all start praising her effusively, but the she glances over at Jane and Michael and refuses to do any more, no matter how the sweeps beg. Well, she has to keep some measure of control!

They put on a marvelous show, though she really does wish they would stop dancing on the ledges of rooftops. It's delightful but absolutely nerve-wracking.

The festivities seem to come to an end when silly, possibly senile, Admiral Boom starts firing fireworks at them, as if that's an appropriate response! The sweeps and children all drop to the ground while she surveys the attack. If she had the time, she'd be more inclined to send them flying back in his face. As it is, she barely has time to think, concerned only with getting the children out of the line of fire.

She's leading them towards their home—quite calmly, given the circumstances and the fact that she's actually quite nervous—when a stray firework makes it way towards Michael and Bert. Bert manages to bat it right back at Admiral Boom. Mary hides the look of relief on her face. As the sweeps clamber down the chimney, Mary catches Bert's eye. "Nicely hit," she smiles.

He just grins back and tilts his hat in salute. Then they step down the chimney together. He does an acrobatic tumble out of the fireplace. She steps out neatly, helped by one of the other sweeps and begins efficiently tidying up Michael as the sweeps all dance through the house. Ellen and Mrs. Banks even get swept up in their enthusiasm and Mary can't help but smile. She uses the momentum of the occasion to help start Jane and Michael up the stairs and towards the nursery, holding their hands as they willing follow and Bert dances with a large grin on his face.

"It's the master!" Ellen yells. The sweeps all turn that into another verse for their chant.

Mary sighs. "Oh bother," she grumbles under her breath.

"What's all this?" Mr. Banks keeps repeating and Mary can see just how flustered he is.

"Bert," she says sternly, nodding so he'll get the message. Bert whistles and gestures towards the door and all the chimney sweeps start to file out the door, each shaking Mr. Banks hand. Michael escapes her attention for one minute and attempts to sneak out in the crowd but Mr. Banks catches him.

"Oh, Father, every one of those sweeps shook your hand! You're going to be the luckiest person in the world!" Jane exclaims happily.

Mary knows this isn't the time or the place for such pronouncements. "Come along, children. Spit spot," she orders.

Mr. Banks turns on her as she sends the children upstairs, fury written all over his face. "Just a minute. Mary Poppins, what is the _meaning _of this outrage?"

She freezes and steps back downstairs. "I beg your pardon?" she frowns. No one has ever dared question her so insolently before.

"Would you be good enough to _explain _all this?" Mr. Banks demands, clearly trying to control his temper.

"First of all, I would like to make one thing _quite _clear," she snaps, narrowing her eyes, her mouth curving into a frown.

"Yes?"

She takes a deep breath and plasters a smile on her face. For the good of the children, she reminds herself. "I never explain anything!"

And then, before he can answer, she whisks away up the stairs. He stares after her then goes to answer the ringing telephone.

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><p><strong>I do hope you enjoyed it!<strong>

**-Juli-**


	7. Denouement

**Happy Topsy Turvy Day! I'm going to celebrate this auspicious occasion with an update!**

**Oh my goodness, I can't believe this is done. I really hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it!**

**Normally I would offer up an epilogue after this chapter, since it's the official end and I like epilogues. But I don't think that'd be really true to the story of Mary Poppins. However, if you'd like, I might be persuaded to write a short sequel...**

**Anyways, as always, I own nothing.**

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><p>Mary goes upstairs to find the children eavesdropping on their father's end of the conversation. She stops and is about to scold them when Mr. Banks hangs up and the children get up slowly. She leads them to the nursery.<p>

"To bed now, please," she requests, her voice gentler than usual. Neither Michael nor Jane kicks up a fuss.

"Mary Poppins?" Jane says.

"Yes?"

"Father is in trouble because of us, isn't he?"

Mary's heart breaks and she sits down on Jane's bed. The children join her. "Sometimes," Mary explains. "Adults simply need to find someone to lay blame on so they might not have to look at their own faults. Your father is a victim of that sort of thinking. Never believe that you are the source of your father's pain, Jane. He loves you very much."

"Oh, Mary Poppins!" Jane exclaims, flinging her arms around Mary's waist and squeezing. Mary freezes then rests one hand on Jane's head, the other on her back. "You can't ever leave! Whatever would we do without you?"

"You would carry on just fine, no doubt," she sniffs.

"No we wouldn't!" Jane protests. "I love you, Mary Poppins!"

"Me too!" Michael cries, joining the hug.

"I'm quite fond of you both," Mary replies, trying to keep her emotions in check. "Now into your pajamas. You've had a long day."

"Please don't go, Mary Poppins," Michael says.

"Oh, please stay," Jane pleads.

"I shall sit here until you've finished getting ready for bed," she promises, moving to the rocking chair and rocking back and forth for a few minutes until the children have completed their nightly routine. She frowns. The idea of leaving her charges has never seemed so daunting before.

_Oh, now you've done it, Mary_, she scolds herself silently. _You've gone and gotten all muddled, just in time to leave. Distance yourself quickly!_

Even turning out the lights and leaving the room feels like she's tearing just a little corner of her heart out.

She comes quietly downstairs just in time to catch the end of Bert and Mr. Banks' conversation. From her position on the stairs, she can see Mr. Banks' posture start to give and she smiles sadly, knowing that her work has just been all but completed by Bert.

She follows him outside just as the children come downstairs.

"Well, 'ello, Mary Poppins," he says cheerfully. "Lovely night out."

"Hello, Bert," she replies carefully. Her throat tightens when she speaks. "It is, isn't it?"

He studies her, his eyes roaming as if he's trying to memorize every detail. She just looks back at him without trying to shy from his gaze. "The winds changing soon, innit?" he asks.

"By tomorrow, I should think." She can barely speak her throat is so choked up.

"Mary, are you alright?" he questions her. His eyes fill with worry.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," she says suddenly, choking back a sob.

"Mary?"

She looks up at the sky, studying it with intensity. "All my life, I've managed to keep myself free of entanglements and now…"

"Now what?"

"I can't seem to make myself disengage. I… I…"

"You love 'em, don't you, Mary Poppins?"

"Yes, I- I suppose I do," she sighs. "And now we must say goodbye. And I'm all muddled."

He's quiet for a moment. "Maybe we got it wrong, Mary," he says suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?" she sniffs.

"About saying goodbye. Maybe all this time we got it wrong."

"I'm sorry, Bert, but I really don't understand."

"Maybe… maybe…" he hesitates. "Maybe sayin' goodbye is better. Because when you say goodbye, you let people go. But at the same time, you trust you'll see 'em again. Maybe there's nothing sad at all in saying goodbye. Maybe goodbye isn't permanent at all. Not if you don't want it to be."

She straightens up, working her way back into her practically perfect shell. "I really must be going back inside."

"I 'ope you get unmuddled, Mary."

She summons a small smile and he grins back. "I love ya, never doubt that."

"How could I possibly when you're so good to me?" she asks rhetorically.

He kisses her cheek softly. "Sleep well, Mary Mine. Things'll look brighter in the morning."

He gets about ten feet away before she calls his name. He turns around and she all but flings herself into his arms, kissing him with all the passion she can muster. Automatically, his arms tug her waist to pull her near and she threads her arms around his neck, trying to bring him as close as humanly possible. When they pull away her lips feel bruised. "Farewell, Bert," she says.

"Goodbye," he corrects. "I 'ave faith you'll come back."

"And I have faith you'll be here," she responds.

"Then we can say goodbye. It'll be good practice."

"Goodbye, Bert," she says quietly and carefully shuts that door in her heart, so she can no longer feel the pain the separation might cause.

"Goodbye, Mary."

She nods and goes back into the house.

"He's a very handsome man," Winifred grins and Mary suspects she's been watching from the window.

"Indeed, mum," Mary hums.

"He seems to care for you an awful lot," Winifred continues.

"Yes'm."

The blond woman frowns. "Mary Poppins, are you alright?"

Mary gives her a tight smile. "I'll be just fine, mum. Is Mr. Banks off to the bank?"

"He left just as you came in. I'm just so worried… Mary Poppins, I feel foolish asking, but will you sit with me until he's home?"

"Of course."

They sit in tense silence for an hour. Mary wishes there were something she could do to relieve some of the anxiety Mrs. Banks is feeling.

"Mary Poppins, are you _sure _you're alright?" Mrs. Banks asks suddenly.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Banks, I assure you."

Winifred gets a mischievous look in her eye. "So the chimney sweep who was here earlier…"

"He's a dear friend of mine, ma'am," Mary says, trying to sound convincing.

"He seems wonderful."

Mary allows herself a small smile. "He is indeed."

"Oh, _where_ is George? You'd think he'd be home… You don't think…" A worried look crosses her face and Mrs. Banks starts to pace frantically. "He _was _in such a state when he left. He might have… No, he wouldn't…" She turns to Mary Poppins with a question in her eyes. "You don't think…"

"Absolutely not," Mary assures her. "Now I'll go make you a cup of tea and then I shall need to rest, as you should."

Mrs. Banks murmurs her thanks but is clearly distracted.

Mary does as she says and checks in on the children one more time before getting ready for bed. She sighs. It's time for her to go; come morning they won't need her at all. She smoothes each child's hair and kisses them softly on the forehead. Neither one stirs.

Standing in the doorway she takes a deep breath, lets one tear drop, and then lets the Banks children go as best she can.

0ooo0

The next morning, she dresses the children and glances out the window. As she suspected, the winds have changed. She says as much and gets her carpet bag. Jane and Michael look horrified, but she spent the night making sure that she could do this very thing. Still, she avoids looking at them while she packs.

"She doesn't care what happens to _us_," Michael mopes.

Thankfully she doesn't have to address that, since Jane answers him. "She only promised to stay until the wind changed. Isn't that right, Mary Poppins?"

"Will you bring me my hat stand, please?" she requests instead of answering, nodding her head to the object.

Jane and Michael obey but slowly. Jane turns around, tears in her eyes. "Mary Poppins, don't you love us?"

"And what would happen to me, may I ask," she replies, swallowing a lump in her throat, "if I loved all the children I said goodbye to?"

Jane and Michael both hold back sobs and she feels terribly. But this is for their own good, she knows it, so she keeps a stiff upper lip and continues to pack her things.

She's happy to hear Mr. Banks come home, even happier to hear him call the children. "Your father's calling you," she points out.

"It doesn't _sound _like Father," Michael comments.

She widens her eyes and gives them a stern look. "Run along! Spit spot!"

They both turn around at the door, actually in tears. "You won't go, Mary Poppins, will you?" Michael asks.

"Spit spot," she repeats sadly.

They leave the room and go downstairs to be with their family, as it should be.

She finishes packing her things, pulls out her umbrella and goes to the window. The Banks family is skipping down the street, Mother, Father, Sister, Brother, as it should be.

Looking around the room, she smiles. "Practically perfect in _every_ way," she murmurs and goes downstairs with her bag. No one watches her leave, as it should be.

She pauses on the stoop just to see the family she's become so attached to one more time. "That's gratitude for you!" her umbrella squawks. "Didn't even say goodbye!"

"No, they didn't."

"You know, they think more of their father than they do of you!" he exclaims.

"That's as it should be," she nods.

"Well, don't you _care_?"

"Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking."

"Is that so?" he asks, sounding rather sarcastic. "Well, I'll tell you one thing, Mary Poppins. You don't fool me a bit!"

She turns to face the insolent thing. "Oh _really_?"

"Yes, really! I know exactly how you feel about these children and if you think I'm going to keep my mouth shut any longer, I-"

She stifles his words by holding his beak closed. "That will be quite enough of _that_, thank you!"

She taps his forehead and he goes to sleep. She unfurls the umbrella and takes off into the sky.

Bert is the only one to notice her go, as it should be.

He grins up at her. "Goodbye, Mary Poppins. Don't stay away too long."

She looks back and grins at him. Someday soon, she'll never have to hear the word goodbye out of his mouth again, but for now she's content to fly off to where she's needed most. Someday soon, she'll be in his arms permanently, but not quite yet. There's still a lot of imperfection in the world, after all.

He raises his hand in a salute and his grin becomes even wider, as if he might be reading her thoughts. She smiles one last time, turns to face forward and flies off into the skies.

She's leaving again, but the promise of tomorrow hangs in the air.

* * *

><p><strong>Do let me know about the sequel. <strong>

**Thank you so much for everything, everyone!**

**-Juli-**


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